


Dearheart, Harry Hart

by mandysimo13



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Confessions of love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, M/M, Tumblr Prompt, terms of endearment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 07:58:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7039630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandysimo13/pseuds/mandysimo13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry knows he loves Eggsy. But he will never act on it, sure that Eggsy would never feel the same. Until Eggsy lets slip several times, words of fondness that have Harry rethinking his sureness of Eggsy's platonic affection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dearheart, Harry Hart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sfumatosoup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sfumatosoup/gifts).



> This was taken from a head canon that sfumatosoup wrote on tumblr: 
> 
> But what if Eggsy is the one that always slips into conversation various endearments?
> 
> “Harry, my dear…”, “My darling Harry,” “Harry dearest,” “…Yes, Eggsy?”

The first time it happened Harry nearly dropped his phone, disbelieving the words he just heard.

“I’m sorry, what was that,” he asked, calmly requesting a repeat. Clarification.

“Harry, my dear,” Eggsy drawled, clearly knackered. “I’m pissed and someone nicked my fuckin’ wallet. Could you,” he hesitated. “Could you maybe come give me a ride home?”

Harry licked his lips, not hesitating because of a willingness to help but because his brain was still wrapped around the _Harry, my dear_.

 _He’s drunk, Hart. He doesn’t mean anything you’re thinking. Filthy old man, you are,_ he scolded himself. “Yes, Eggsy. Of course I can come to retrieve you. Where are you?”

He dutifully rolled up to the club Eggsy specified and put the car in idle, scanning the smoking crowd for the familiar face of his protege. He found him pressed against the wall of a neighboring building just at the edge of a shady looking alley, sharing a cigarette with between two other young men. A traitorous stir of jealousy hit his stomach and he grimaced.

Harsher than he meant to he laid on his horn for two sharp honks that startled the three men in the alley. Eggsy’s glassy eyes found Harry in his car and he grinned his drunk, lopsided grin, passing holding the cigarette for one of the boys to take without looking to see who would take it. Once his fingers were free he sauntered through the sidewalk crowd towards the car. He leaned in the open driver’s side window and said with grin, “my hero.”

Harry was having none of it, very displeased with the idea of Eggsy calling him for a ride when he was sharing saliva, albeit secondhandedly, with two other men as he watched. “Get in the car, Eggsy,” he said humorlessly.

Eggsy pouted, rounding the car to slide into the passenger seat. “You disappointed in me, Harry?”

“Now whatever gave you that impression,” Harry replied sarcastically.

“Don’t get all high and mighty about the smoking, guv. Just a fag amongst mates.” He crossed his arms and sniffed. “Barely touch the things.”

“Who were those boys you were sharing it with,” he asked, knowing he was out of line for even asking. He wasn’t the boy’s father or his keeper. _Or his lover,_ he added silently.

“Aw, those were my mates from the old neighborhood. Ryan and Jamal. Known them since primary, great guys.” He leaned back into his seat, relaxing. Harry felt his chest loosen, unaware of just how much tension he was holding before knowing the answer.

“I see,” he said cautiously.

Eggsy lolled his head to look at him and Harry resolutely kept his head pointed forward. “You mad at me, love?”

Harry’s heart stuttered in his chest. The pet name, the term of endearment said so easily, so freely that it made him ache. He nearly stomped the brakes in surprise. Only his expert training in appearing nonplussed in more stressful situations than playing Designated Driver, prevented him from doing so. He cleared his throat and replied honestly, “no, Eggsy.” At a traffic light he chanced a look at him and felt his throat clench slightly. “Though I wish you wouldn’t smoke anymore. Even occasionally. It’s bad for your lungs and you need those, I’m afraid.”

He ended with a smile and received a bright one from Eggsy in return. When the light changed Harry asked lightly, “so how did someone manage to lift a wallet from a highly trained professional such as yourself?”

Eggsy groaned in embarrassment, covering his face with his hands. He slunk down into the seat before peering at him through his fingers. In that moment he looked so much like the toddler he had first met that Harry nearly laughed aloud. “I don’ even know, Harry. I went to pay my tab and reached into my pocket and weren’t nuffin’ there.” He padded his pockets for good measure to emphasize the point. His hands traveled up his chest, padding down his jacket and then his face flushed red. “Aw, you’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

Curious and amused, Harry quirked an eyebrow. “Something the matter?”

Eggsy bit his lip and shook his head. He reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet. The innocence in Eggsy’s face, coupled with his embarrassment was all too much. Harry paused at a stop and started laughing. Eggsy soon joined in and said, “guess I owe the boys a pint or two for coverin’ my tab.”

“I’d say you would,” Harry concurred. The rest of the short drive was full of light, jovial silence.

When Harry pulled up in front of Eggsy’s home, the one he had procured after Merlin removed Dean from Eggy’s life and that of his mother and sister’s, he put the car in idle and turned to bid the young man farewell. “I believe we are at your stop, Eggsy.”

“Yeah,” he said, shaking Harry’s hand. “Thanks, Harry. My man, my darlin’, my hero of the hour.” He leaned a fraction forward, as if he were going to hug Harry, and Harry braced himself for the unlooked for affection. But at the last minute he seemed to sober a fraction and rein himself in. “See you at work, then. Thank you, again, for the ride.”

“Any time, Eggsy,” Harry assured. And like the gentleman he was, he watched the young man leave his car, walk up the walk to his door. Only once he had entered his home and closed the door, did Harry put his car in drive and head home. All the while replaying _my dear, love, my hero, my darlin’ in his head._

 

~*~

 

The second time it happened Harry couldn’t excuse the term of endearment as a drunken slip. They were in the common room at Kingsman HQ, waiting on assignments from Merlin and Harry had just handed Eggsy a cup of tea. “Thank you, dearheart,” he said absentmindedly while he tapped out something on his phone one handed.

Harry’s hand stuttered without his permission and he sloshed a few drops of hot tea on his hand. “Bugger,” he whispered, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to dab at his wrist. Thankfully, he had worn a dark grey shirt that morning and the tea stain wouldn’t draw too much attention. Still, the stain mocked him for his startled reaction.

“Dearheart?,” Roxie asked with a smile, sliding into a chair.

“Never heard that one before, Rox?” She shook her head and he explained, “my mum used to call me that. Before Dean,” he clarified. He frowned momentarily but then his bright smile returned and he said, “she’s started callin’ Dais that recently. I guess it just got stuck in my mind.”

“Right,” Roxy said, unconvinced.

Harry wisely said nothing, taking a sip of tea to calm himself. He squashed down his unreasonably hopeful feelings once more and when Merlin entered with the folders containing their week’s assignments he gave the man his full attention. He knew what was going to be said. He had picked the assignments himself, playing Arthur was both a blessing and a curse. He had only needed Merlin to finish compiling all the details for safety and equipment and so on before they handed everything out. But if he let his attention waver for a moment he knew he would be blushing and grinning stupidly over being called "dearheart" by a boy young enough to be his son. And that, most certainly, was not on. It would be beneficial, most beneficial, for him to put it all out of his head before his heart ran away with it and he was in sorry trouble.

 

~*~

 

The third time Eggsy dropped a word bomb in the form of an affectionate term Harry almost missed it.

They had worked hard on this job. A group of gun runners in Somalia, nasty and dangerous men, had taken an asset hostage unwittingly and had attracted the attention of the Kingsmen. They were bad men who deserved every broken bone and charge thrown at them when all was said and done. But they were smart and resourceful bad men and it had been a challenge for even Merlin to find their safehouse to retrieve their asset in the UN. The man had been hungry, dehydrated, and in sore need of a shower but otherwise unharmed. Harry could not say the same for the gun runners when they were finished with them.

After a week of negotiations, stakeouts, a amourous hand-to-hand/shoot out fight, and a nearly thirteen hour flight back to London, Eggsy and Harry had been dead on their feet. Merlin told them in no uncertain terms that they were not to leave headquarters until they had both eaten, showered, and slept at least eight solid hours. And not necessarily in that order. Together, leaning on each other for support, they dragged their battered and tired bodies into the dorms for on duty agents.

Only the most immediately uncomfortable items of clothing were removed, jackets and shoes blearily kicked off and dropped to the floor, before they dropped onto cots next to each other. Harry’s head hit the pillow and he groaned in pain as his body finally began to relax. _I’m getting too bloody old for fieldwork_ , he cursed not for the first or last time. The splitting headache from too little food, water, sleep and a good crack to the head with the butt of a pistol while on the job pounded behind his eyes and he turned onto his belly to press his face into the pillow. _Maybe if I mash my head into the pillow it’ll stop_ , he thought woefully.

Eventually, his mind began to calm, even if his head still hurt, and he felt his limbs loosen and relax. He could have sworn he was asleep when he heard Eggsy’s soft voice pulling at his consciousness.

“Harry, love, you look awful.” He sounded as if he didn’t think Harry was still awake. Maybe he wasn’t, maybe he was lucidly dreaming. “God, darlin’, when that prick cracked you with his gun I near went mental. Thought he would’a had you for sure.” The concern in his voice was something he never would have been able to conjure if he hadn’t heard it before when Eggsy spoke of his mother, his sister, Roxie, even Harry himself when he was on assignment alone. It sounded soft, lost, moments from breaking.

He knew he should speak up, assure the boy that he was right there, quite whole and alive and quite alright aside from the headache from hell. But he was selfish. He had been holding his feelings down for so long, the improprietous feelings of wanting, _needing_ , the boy like oxygen and knowing that he was not right to claim him for himself. He wanted one moment, one unguarded and true moment with Eggsy that added fire to the withering embers of his hope that maybe a beautiful, intelligent, youthful boy like Eggsy could want an old-hat like Harry.

It took everything in him not to flinch away from or lean into the unexpected touch at his forehead where a big purple bruise bloomed. Eggy’s gentle fingers brushed aside his unkempt hair and he sighed, hoping Eggsy still thought him asleep. “It was like watchin’ you get shot all over again. I couldn’t bear it to lose you again.” He could hear the sniffle, the cough of held-back tears. “Don’t leave again, dearheart? Please?”

Not expecting an answer, the fingers removed themselves and retreated back to their owner who then grew quiet. Harry didn’t know what to do with the new-found, dishonestly incurred information. Eggsy’s fondness for him was known, and Harry’s for Eggsy, to all who met them. But they had been hiding from each other. Hiding their feelings and their love. For that was exactly the term Harry would use to describe his feelings for his protege, however inappropriate. It went beyond a surrogacy for a parent, far beyond lust, and miles away from platonic.

No. Harry loved Eggsy plain as day.

And the thought that Eggsy clearly loved him too, in some capacity, scared the hell out of him. What if Eggsy only loved him like the father he never knew? What if he didn’t? What if he wanted Harry like Harry wanted him? There were so many areas of their life to be navigated in that event. Eggy’s mother and sister would need to be let in and oh god, what would they think? The Kingsmen would need to be notified and measures taken professionally to ensure that there were no conflicts of interest, no favoritism, no unwanted in-fighting. Could Harry stand to watch him get injured or possibly killed on a solo mission? Could he stand by and let the young man make choices that may scar him irreparably, both mentally and physically? Could he watch Eggsy perform a honeypot?

But what if Eggsy didn’t love him like that? If Harry made his feelings known would he be rejected? Would Eggsy be disgusted? Would Eggsy pity him? His last thought before his injuries and exhaustion pulled him forcibly into sleep was that he would absolutely not make a move unless Eggsy moved first. Selfishly, he couldn’t bear to see anything but fondness for him in Eggy’s eyes.

 

~*~

 

Not long after Eggsy’s unwitting confession, Harry was sent on a solo mission.

He was sent to retrieve a parcel. A simple run, was expected to take 48 hours to complete. Absolutely routine.

He was in Istanbul, drinking coffee outside the Grand Bazaar when his contact showed, carrying one of the many non-descript cases he had seen in his many years of service. As planned, the man sat next to him and placed the case on the ground while he ordered a coffee from a server. It was identical to the case Harry had placed at his feet.

Smooth as silk, Harry reached down and grabbed his contact’s case, threw a few bills on the table for his coffee, and made to leave. He only got about five feet from the cafe when panicked screaming directed his gaze to the crowd behind him. He saw, too late, a man pulling back his shirt to reveal a bomb strapped to his chest. Frantic yelling in Turkish and in German, the bomber having chosen to plant himself in the middle of a German tour group, was suddenly interrupted by a blast.

The world lost all sound, his ears ringing. He didn’t feel himself flying through the air with the force of the explosion until his back connected with a brick wall. And then the world went black.

When Harry next awoke he was in the familiar infirmary at Kingsman headquarters. The beeping of the machines, the itchiness of his IV tubing, the dry and stale taste in his mouth all familiar hazards of the job. It was an occurrence that, despite it being more frequent than he cared to admit, was not one he would ever be accustom to. Slowly he took mental stock of everything he was feeling; the itch of his IVs, the dryness of his throat, the pain in his back and head, the crushing weight of something gripping his right hand-

His eyes snapped open as he categorized that last sensation. Carefully, so as not to do himself further harm, he turned and bent his head to see what caused the immobilizing weight in his hand. What he saw was Eggsy, with both his hands clasped around Harry’s one, head pressed into the mattress near his knees, asleep.

The fondness for the boy choked him up and he let one traitorous, yet cathartic, tear slip from each eye. His hand reflexively twitched, clutching at Eggsy’s hands when his brain caught up with him. The small movement made Eggsy gasp and jerk awake. His eyes stared unfocused at the sheets beneath him for a moment before his head snapped up to see Harry awake.

It was reminiscent of the first time this happened. The time he spent in a coma after Professor Arnold’s head exploded all over him and he had been forced to make a hasty, messy escape in an explosion of his own. Eggsy had been there when he awoke then, too. He had kept his vigil all through his training and Harry could not have been more proud or more fond, he had thought.

He was wrong.

Now the love he held for Eggsy, the knowledge that he could have been lost to him for real, even after coming back from the brink of death twice in their acquaintanceship, made his chest ache.

“Harry,” Eggsy croaked, his broken voice making insubordinate tears leak from Harry’s eyes, “you’re awake.”

“Yes, Eggsy,” he rasped. “I’m awake.”

Eggsy swallowed. “Are you okay?”

Harry shrugged minutely, “I think I’ll live.”

“Good,” Eggsy said before scowling and punching Harry in the shoulder.

Harry groaned, his free hand flying up to grasp his now bruising shoulder. “Goddamnit, Eggsy! I’ve just awoken from a trauma and you assault me?”

“You nearly died! Again,” Eggsy railed. Harry registered distantly that Eggsy still had one hand gripping Harry’s right hand tightly. “Why do you keep doing this to me?”

“To you,” Harry asked, affronted. “Eggsy Unwin, I swear to you on anything you’re holding particularly dear at the moment, that I do not intend to be on the brink of death every few months.” Still rubbing his shoulder, he sunk further into the mattress. “Hazard of the job. You should know that by now.”

“You keep almost leaving,” Eggsy accused. Petulantly, he looked down at their joined hands, his thumb now stroking Harry’s knuckles. “Every time I have the slightest bit o’ hope that you’ll stick around, you remind me that death is at our back and one day you will leave me for good one day.” He closed his eyes and used his free hand to run his fist under his nose, a small sniffle betraying his barely held-back tears.

“Eggsy,” Harry started, trying to soothe the boy but Eggsy cut him off.

“I fuckin’ love ya,” he said quickly. Voice even and deadly calm, but sharp. It made Harry’s heart stutter in his chest. Harry had never hoped to hear Eggsy say those words to him, he almost couldn’t believe it.

“W-what did you say?” His eyes were wide, pleading, his hand clenched in Eggsy’s, his breath stopped altogether, waiting for Eggy to repeat himself so that the world could start again. There were few times in his life where he felt as uncontrolled as he felt just then. Like he had been flung from an airplane without a chute, like he was falling with no landing in site. Who would have thought in a thousand years that this brilliant boy could throw him through a loop such as he did.

“I. Fuckin’. Love ya,” Eggsy said slowly, punctuating each word with the weight of a period. He finally lifted his eyes from their hands and met him head on. “Harry, darlin’. Harry, my mentor, my hero, my stubborn arse of a boss,” he licked his lips, “my friend. I love you.”

Harry admired the courage Eggsy had to confess his feelings. It was something that Harry, who had flung himself into certain death more times than he could count, was never brave enough to do. What was a hero’s death when put against the pain of rejection? One came with praise for your sacrifice, even if it was silent and unrecognized by the majority. The other came with a lifetime of regret and misery. Eggsy, it seemed, had no such reservations.

“I kept thinking, when Merlin told me what happened, that if you died this time for real then I would have regretted not telling you forever. I don’t regret much. But not telling you how I feel, even if you don’t feel the same,” he shook his head and frowned. “I can’t keep doing it. Not when you keep tryin' to die.”

“Eggsy,” he whispered, overcome with the weight of Eggsy’s words. Finally, with the confirmation that he wasn’t alone, he made the first move that he should have clearly made ages ago. He lifted their clasped hands to his lips and kissed Eggy’s knuckles, holding the hand to his lips for a long moment. “My dear, dear, boy,” he looked at him and allowed the love he had for him shine through. “I could never imagine you’d feel the same for me.”

Eggsy’s eyes went wide. His throat worked a slow swallow. “H-Harry?” Harry kissed his hand once more before letting it fall to his heart and he pressed their hands to his heart. It beat strong beneath his ribs and he wanted Eggsy to feel it. “How long,” he demanded softly.

“Since that day I got you released,” Harry confessed. He felt the weight of this knowledge fall from him in an instant. “Your steadfast loyalty to your friends, your refusal to give them up at the expense of yourself. Your cheek, your fiery passion when you spoke to me about “snobs like me” and "silver suppositories". God, you were such a brat, but I admired it, nonetheless. Your honesty in keeping a promise to not name me even in the face of Dean’s assault. Your bravery, your kindness, your wit, everything since that first day has only woven yourself tighter into the fabric of my heart.”

Harry surprised himself with the ferocity of his words. Never one to write poetry, only quote it to make a statement, the truth of his words inspired such passion. Eggsy deserved sonnets, odes, dedicated to him for what he had managed to do. Breaking into his heart like the stealthiest of thieves, Harry couldn't help but be awed and inspired.

“You’re such a fuckin’ sap,” Eggsy said with a watery smile.

Harry smiled in return. “You would be the only one in the world to have that knowledge, Eggsy. Use it wisely.”

The moment stretched into a charged silence. Even with the newly confirmed knowledge of their shared love, Harry still wanted Eggsy to control their pace. He wanted to kiss him, seal their declarations with something concrete, something tangible, something to cherish. So he did the only thing he could think of to garnish action from him.

He smirked and quirked an amused eyebrow. “So, are we going to sit around all day or are you going to kiss me,” he challenged.

“Prat,” Eggsy chuckled before half climbing onto the bed in his haste to kiss him.

The first touch of lips was desperate, borne of too many words unsaid, too much time gone before they gave in. It was hands grasping at their hair and jawlines, lips sucking lips into teeth to pull groans and sighs from their mouths, tongues tasting indulgently. Eventually the desperation simmered to something more stable. Small licks and nips that subsided to chaste pecks and ending with their foreheads pressed against each other as they gathered their breath.

At length, Harry cleared his throat. “I much prefer “dearheart” over “prat”, I think.”

Eggsy laughed, carding his fingers through Harry’s hair. “You’re my dearheart, now, Harry Hart.”

“As you are mine, dear boy.”

Even with the pain in his body from the explosion and the exhaustion from the coma and their emotional confessions, Harry couldn’t have been happier.


End file.
